


Ave, Imperator

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Emperor Hux, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Kylo Amidala, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an unexpected turn of events, and with the Starkiller weapon not yet ready to be fired, General Hux comes up with an alternative scheme for bending the galactic public at large in the First Order's favor: To take advantage of their foolish nostalgia, their dangerous sentimentality--and, simultaneously, remind those with old memories and older loyalties exactly who they're dealing with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't going to write this. Look at that, I failed. Have it, enjoy.
> 
> I'll add tags if they become necessary?
> 
> EDIT 01JULY2016: [doodlingthingies](http://doodlingthingies.tumblr.com/) is a wonderful, amazing person and has posted fabulous fan art of Avaah Ren, the original character that appears here and in several of my other Kylux fics. Go check them out by clicking [right here.](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/tagged/avaah-ren)

Kylo couldn't finish the news report simply because he could not believe his eyes. He scrolled back to the top, his fingers smacking hard against the screen of his datapad. Surely he’d read it wrong? He didn’t often poke around in the New Republic outlets, he just wasn’t accustomed to their particular prose-like writing any longer.

He hadn't read it wrong. They were taking about him, rather, they were talking about a dead boy. One who remained dead. One who he wouldn't ever consider becoming again. And yet, here was this dead boy announcing his betrothal and calling upon the people his grandmother once governed to support him in his new partnership.

With a prominent First Order official, which was ridiculous in and of itself to imagine.

_The pair calls upon the people of Naboo for support..._

The datapad cut easily through the air and hit the viewport with a satisfying clatter. "What is this trash?"

The report was absurd. Ridiculous. Dreamt up by some bored journalist. It read like it had been lifted from the script of a poorly conceived holodrama.

_Hux._

Kylo glared at the datapad's darkened, cracked screen where it lay on the floor trying to tamp down the feeling of foreboding that filled his gut and bubbled into his chest. He drew in a breath as deep as he could and let it out slowly. The odds and ends around the room were shaking, the datapad's screen splintered into a web of fine cracks. He gritted his teeth and slammed his closed fist down on the table. The screen exploded, the shards tinkling against the floor like Hoth’s freezing rain against transparisteel.

Hux of  _all people_. Why would they have connected him—in anticipated union—with  _Hux_? Whether Ben Solo or Kylo Ren was concerned, he was quite sure that General Hux was the last being in the galaxy, sentient or not, that he could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

Kylo broke out into manic laughter, all of the trembling objects around the room zooming off to crash against wall and floor. The pneumatic door on the opposite wall  _whisshed_ open, a frazzled looking Avaah Ren standing on the other side, meditation beads clutched in her hand and her eyes wild and searching.

"What the kriff is going on in here?"

She was breathing hard, her empty hand gripping the door frame. Kylo snapped his energy to attention, focusing on her agitation—his own had pulled her from her meditation, from a vision she was still half-lost in, that much was obvious from even the shallowest pools of her unguarded consciousness.

"You're projecting. Violently." She shuddered and raked a shaking hand through green hair, pushing sweat-stuck locks away from her face. "Stop it." 

Avaah stepped through the doorway and picked her way across the room. She squinted down at the varied debris in her path, though her concentration was elsewhere. "What about Hux?"

“He’s done something, without consulting me first.”

Avaah squinted at him as she eased herself into the seat at the table across from him, tutting at the state of the common room that the Knights shared. _I’m not cleaning this mess up._

“Have you forgotten that he is the general? That this is his ship to command?”

Kylo’s lip curled up, annoyed, “That is not what I mean!” Avaah glanced at the broken datapad when his gaze flicked to it and raised her brows expectantly. Kylo huffed, “Here.” He grabbed her hand, unable to push his thoughts past her own racing stream without a direct connection. He dumped the image of the New Republic report into her head.

“I don’t understand.”

“We—“

“No, Kylo, I _understand_ what it says. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

He stood abruptly, her fingers still held tightly in his and nearly toppling his chair. “Would _you_ not be upset by something so ridiculous?”

“Kylo, it was not real.”

“I saw it. I read it—plain as the nose on my face, printed on that datapad’s screen.”

“It was a vision.”

“I—no.”

“You are so pigheaded.” She threw his memory back at him. The details didn’t seem quite right. The glow of the screen wasn’t as bright, the words not as crisp. It hadn’t felt like a vision, at least not in the typical sense. Avaah threaded herself into the fabric of the memory, taking the datapad from his hands and showing him the screen as it really was: the cursor blinking, waiting for him to enter his passcode to access what lay beyond the intra-network. “Perhaps it was only a daydream. Your mind playing tricks on you while it wanders.”

“You are determined to undermine—“

“Sit down.” He glared, clenched his jaw, and hesitated. “Sit down or I will not share what I have seen.”

Avaah rolled the beads in her fist. Her knee bounced up and down with nervous energy.

“ _Sit._ ”

Kylo sat.

Avaah shifted her hand in his grip, covering it with her other as well, her beads pressing uncomfortably into his knuckles. She took a breath and closed her eyes, leaning toward him as if about to whisper some secret.

Kylo saw himself. He felt at once that he was within the body he was seeing and outside of it, watching from elsewhere. He could feel the tightness in his cheeks, the garish paint on his face drying and flaking at the end of a long day. He felt overly warm, wearing too many layers of clothing. Something pinned into his hair poked at his scalp when he rolled his neck.

The vision shifted, moving in a blur that made his physical stomach lurch. Pain shot through the back of his head as it struck the durasteel wall behind him. He snarled, his lips curled into an ugly shape and his teeth bared as he fought back against an unseen assailant. His heavy clothing hindered his movement significantly.

His cheek hit the floor, teeth cutting into it on the inside, the infuriating taste of his own blood blossoming across his tongue. He rolled with his attacker, hands wrapped around their throat as they clawed at his face.

Another shift and Kylo was on his back. His body was tense, his knuckles sore and muscles trembling. His hands rested at his own throat in a guarded gesture, his back arched up away from the floor. The paint on his face was smeared, grooves cut into it with uneven fingermarks, the color around his eyes faded from the moisture gathered in his lashes. He sucked in breath and rasped, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth forming an _O_ of shock.

The vision fell apart. Avaah was clutching his hand so hard that it hurt, breathing hard herself.

“Why have you seen this and not I?”

She shrugged and drew her hands away slowly, “The Force works in mysterious ways. Maybe I am meant to prevent it. You certainly appeared indisposed.” She pushed both hands through her hair, smoothing it back and regaining more of her usual demeanor. “Why did you look like that?”

_The people of Naboo—_

“I don’t know.”

He needed to speak with Snoke.

And Hux. He could not shake the feeling that Hux was at the center of it all.

Avaah Ren brushed up against his thoughts, “Which are you going to tackle first?”

Kylo pursed his lips in an indignant expression and let out a slow breath, searching the starship with tendrils of energy that converged on the bridge.

Avaah smirked, feeling his intent. “I’d wear the mask.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what the news report says at the top of the chapter:  
>  _On this Festival of Light, the New Republic finds itself in receipt of news both disturbing and intriguing.  
>  Ben Solo, son of General Leia Organa, former Princess of Alderaan, has risen from the grave. Thought to be a victim of the massacre that sent Luke Skywalker into exile, it has become apparent that Solo has instead spent the time since then in hiding.  
> It is unknown what role he may have played in the tragedy.  
> It has been announced that Solo is newly betrothed to General Hux of the First Order. The pair calls upon the people of Naboo for support..._
> 
> [Find Avaah's introduction over here in my first foray into the Kylux fandom. Warnings for gloves, choking, and general explicitness?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6158816/chapters/14484457) She's my Knight of Ren OC.
> 
> Just a heads up, this thing will be slow to update. There's a lot of world building that I want to do and a lot of galactic politics I want to play with and my life at the moment is kind of crazy. So I can't promise a consistent schedule, but I can promise what I hope will be a very interesting story.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't a long trip from the Knights' quarters to the command bridge, at least not any more.

They'd initially been housed in the Special Forces barracks. They were far more pleasant, much more spacious and private than the Stormtroopers' accommodations, but still utterly insufficient.

It always brought Kylo special pleasure to remember the meeting that had been called after the first month of their assignment to the  _Finalizer_  and Hux. The command staff had been reviewing the ship's efficiency, debating whether or not to move the select group that they considered Special Forces closer or farther away from the center of activity and strategy on the starship—essentially, closer or farther from themselves.

The Stormtroopers had recently been rotated, a battle having been won only by a very close margin someplace in the Outer Rim. Several of those that had occupied the surrounding barracks had been shot down while they flew or otherwise gutted on the surface, their stealthy infiltration of the Resistance-sympathizing governor's compound thwarted heartily. The Knights had taken the day, cutting through defenses and capturing the hold-outs for a round of public executions where the Special Forces fighters had failed.

Kylo had sat back, quite at his leisure, and allowed the Monk to negotiate. His tone was purposefully soft, forcing the officers around the table to lean forward and listen carefully. He folded his hands almost demurely on the tabletop as he spoke, his spine very straight and his shoulders tipped back. “You must see the reason in keeping the Knights of Ren close. We are not soldiers, we are not your so-called special operatives. In fact, as you must see by now, our rank surpasses your _arbitrary_ system of command. We answer only to a higher power.”

Some hand-faced woman sneered, “We all answer to Supreme Leader.”

The Monk took a deep, slow breath and closed his eyes, dragging out the uncomfortable silence that stretched across the table. “Yes, we receive strategic, tangible orders from Snoke as well.” The others tensed at the sound of the Supreme Leader’s name as if it were a dangerous taboo. “But the power we answer to is greater than that—it is that which shapes the galaxy and flows through all things— _Power itself._ ”

Kylo had been glad he’d chosen to wear his mask to hide his smile behind. Hux’s agitation was evident in the subtle flaring of his nostrils and the roll of his jaw. The atmosphere in the room shimmered with the Force, the Monk playing with the energies in the air and slithering into the officers’ thoughts. The compulsion was easy, they were all agreeing readily enough after a few moments’ more talk—Hux alone resisting the casual manipulation but unwilling to call attention to how easily it had been otherwise achieved. Kylo could feel him filing the incident away in his mind, categorizing information for later use.

“There is space, I suppose.” The hard-faced woman spoke again. _How many did we lose? We shouldn’t send command officers into the field anymore._

The Monk smiled, the expression at once dangerous and calming. “It’s settled then. The Knights of Ren will move to accommodations more befitting—it will of course benefit yourself, General, to have us so near.” He rose from his seat and inclined his head in a respectful and dismissive gesture, the other rising behind him and leaving the room in a rustle of robes.

Avaah Ren had grinned and narrowed her eyes, Kylo catching a snatch of excitement over the potential of being so close to Phasma. Her blueish cheeks flushed attractively and she pulled her hood up to conceal it.

Kylo climbed the stairs to the bridge now, hating the caged feeling he got in the lift, resisting the urge to bound up them two at a time and round on Hux to catch him off-guard.

“General!”

Hux’s shoulders rose and fell in response, an intake of breath and a shift in the fabric of the coat draped over him. “Ren.”

“We are on a course for the Chommell sector, are we not?”

“We are,” Hux continued to stare straight ahead at the emptiness of space through the viewport. Somewhere about a parsec off, some sun was burning too brightly to sustain itself judging by the long-distance radar on the display just to Hux’s side.  “Your observations, as ever, are sharp.”

Kylo let the insolence roll off his back. “You plan to take the Naboo system?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps. And _how_ do you plan to take the Naboo system?”

Hux finally turned, just enough to look at Kylo out of the corner of his eye, “Why are you so suddenly interested?” He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. _Ah. Naboo._ “Some personal investment?”

Very few aboard the _Finalizer_ knew the circumstances of Kylo Ren’s birth from the ashes of Ben Solo.

Hux did.

“Certainly not.” His annoyed huff came out as a bit more of an intimidating sound through the regulator on his mask. “A Knight of Ren has no personal investments.”

Hux nodded and turned back to the viewport. _Ha._

“I have seen things.” Hux’s eyebrow arched. “Regarding your strategy concerning the Naboo system.”

“You’ve seen things.”

“Yes.”

“Regarding a strategy I have not yet devised.”

There was little truth in the statement. Hux planned meticulously—and he certainly wasn’t going to allow a repeat of the disaster on the Outer Rim.

“I agree with the thought that it is wiser to appeal to their political sensibilities. The Naboo and the Gungans have a lasting alliance. In spite of their ridiculous and superfluous appearance, neither is to be trifled with in battle. They’ll fight to the last if the need rises. But—”

“Mm. Indeed. I do recall something about Naboo being rather a sticky situation for the Sith.” Kylo fought to keep his irritation down. “And what are you here to propose? Volunteering yourself as ambassador?”

Kylo began to speak, only to be interrupted once again.

“That’ll do nicely—to appeal to their political inclinations—absolutely, simply remind them of Palpatine and Vader and they’ll fall on their knees, begging to offer fealty to the First Order.”

Hux narrowed his eyes, scanning distant pin-pricks of light. He glanced at Kylo for a fraction of a second before turning on his heel, greatcoat billowing out around him.

“Mitaka.”

“Sir?”

“Alert me when we’ve reached the Mid Rim boundary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“General, you—“

“I am dangerously close to being late for a command meeting, Ren.” Kylo followed at his heels. “If you have anything relevant to offer beyond what you think you’ve seen with your _mysterious power_ , then please, join me.”

“You are playing with dangerous elements, General.”

“My favorite kind of elements to play with, _Master Ren._ ”

Kylo halted, annoyed with himself more than anything and the realization that he may have just planted the suggestion he’d come with the intent to avoid making his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

***

Hux’s shifts technically only lasted twelve standard hours on a rotating schedule. When he was off-duty, his colonel was on. It didn’t matter, though, Hux was on-call no matter what and the number of emergencies and disputes that arose on a battleship that might as well have been called a mobile city were innumerable.

He took what time he had and planned it carefully, arranging slots to review reports and answer correspondence, to train privately, to get a meal and a shower in somewhere, and before he put his head down to sleep—an hour for himself where he was not to be disturbed unless the ship was directly under attack.

Not that the hour of personal time was ever truly upheld by himself or the many forces of the galaxy conspiring against him—but occasionally, he did manage it.

Hux set the cup of tarine tea down on his desk and sank into the chair. His jacket and belt rustled on the back of the chair as he shifted and swiveled to retrieve the bottle of Corellian brandy from the bottom drawer. Gooseflesh prickled on the backs of his bare arms and calves and he flexed his toes, the joints cracking audibly, before setting his feet flat against the chilly floor. The warm spice of the tea and the brandy mingled as he added a splash and swirled the cup to mix it.

He was going to have his drink. He was going to spend a few minutes stretching. He was going to go to bed.

Kriffing Ren.

Hux wondered for a moment what he was doing at that hour. Meditating? Sleeping? Slashing at something with that damned saber? Perhaps he was eating, Hux was almost positive he’d never seen food or drink pass Ren’s lips.

His outburst, while quite on the mild side of outbursts as far as Ren was concerned, had set the tone for the day. Nothing seemed to be working correctly. Trooper assignments were overlapping in one sector and full of voids in another. The air recycler was in need of repair lest everyone aboard succumb to the steadily toxifying atmosphere—the sectors most effected had been sealed off in the meantime. There were several Troopers who needed to be reconditioned and disciplined.

And there was, of course, the matter of the Naboo system.

Ren was right, Hux would give him that much. It had been something he’d been mulling over since he’d set the _Finalizer_ on a course for Chommell. The First Order didn’t have unlimited funds and resources. While he was realistic enough to know that Naboo would never agree to an outright alliance, they might be persuaded into some kind of treaty. The plasma the planet had running beneath its surface was highly valuable—both economically and for the powering of the tens of thousands of weapons that the First Order used each standard day—which made the planet much more appealing intact than vaporized.

The trouble was actually securing cooperation.

There were certainly a number of Imperial sympathizers still there. The Naboo had a long memory, though, and they remembered troublemakers like Padmé Amidala just as well as they remembered the Sith Lord.

The current Senator, a woman called Thadlé Berenko, would object—likely quite strongly.

Why had Ren been so utterly agitated by the prospect of taking the Naboo system for the Order? Certainly if he did indeed intend to _finish what Vader started_ as he claimed upon their first introductions, bending Naboo to the will of the Order would drive that goal forward.

Perhaps he could have Berenko taken care of? Something subtle so that the timing would not raise too many alarms.

Hux sipped his drink as he pondered the possibilities, tracing the smattering of freckles on his forearm absentmindedly. He cringed, pulled from his reverie by the chirping of his datapad.

The alert flashed red in the corner of the screen—a message delivered to his private server. It could only be something urgent. Messages delivered there appeared in code, disappearing once read for the safety of all involved. The server itself was set to a self-destruct protocol in the event of an incorrect password entry or hacking attempt. The General had to invest some level of confidence in the security of the communications he received from informants and spies, from other officers and officials. Even within the Order, there were some things that could not be trusted into the hands of anyone else.

Hux hesitated, briefly musing over the notion of ignoring the message until he checked his messages before the beginning of his next shift.

He tapped the alert and swept his fingers across the screen to trace the pattern that allowed him access to the messages. Predictably, the sender was represented only by a series of randomized numerals and galactic standard letters that offered no hint as to the contents of the communication.

Hux smiled as the message loaded on the screen, the familiar pattern of symbols filling the viewfield. It was a code as old as his memory, a series of _dits_ and _dahs_ that could be written on paper or transmitted holographically or tapped out with knuckles through a shared bedroom wall.

Hux barked out a laugh. He’d actually forgotten.

He gathered up his drink, gone slightly cold, and rooted through the top drawer of the desk for his packet of cigarettes. Rising from his seat, he paused, grabbing the bottle of brandy as well and tucking it under his arm.

He went into his refresher and thumbed at the button that opened the vent in the ceiling—meant to clear off steam but equally as effective at sucking up the smoke from a cigarette—before climbing into the dry tub. He sat back, the gentle curve of the tub more comfortable than laying back in his bed on his weary body, and lit the cigarette.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, holding the smoke in his chest for a long moment before exhaling toward the ceiling.

“Happy birthday to you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the coded message Hux gets: _Interesting weather on the edge of the rim. Don’t drink the water. Have a cig and a sit. Joyous breath. D._
> 
> Morse code doesn't exist, presumably, in the Star Wars universe so it's... not Morse code. Nope. And who the heck is sending him that message? What the kriff does it mean? Hm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just kind of want to take a moment to remind everyone that while Kylo and Hux are the definite protagonists of this story, they're also very much the villains. I feel like I've written a fairly likable Hux so far, but he's also not a nice person. Some awful things happen to a prisoner and I'm undecided as to whether to continue down that road or keep things mostly off-screen. I've got a plan for where the story as a whole is going, but I'm trying to let it get there on its own.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure why I feel the need to warn you all about this. I've seen the damn Kylux tag.

Hux stared at himself.

A face and a body and an undeniable _something_ that was so like him and yet was not him.

It wasn’t quite a mirror, but he couldn’t be entirely sure it was a separate person either. It had never felt like a completely separate being, some other independent sentience. The Hux he was looking at squinted and scowled and gesticulated to illustrate whatever point they were making.

“Are you even listening?”

Hux shrugged, “Not really.” He felt like he’d walked in on a scene already in progress, not quite following the flow, letting it bump around him instead.

They were in a dry tub with their knees pulled up toward their chests so both long-limbed creatures would fit. The room around it was wobbling and wavering, the edges of everything turning into some strange mix of the refresher in his quarters and the one attached to his dorm at the Academy so many years ago, something in his chest clawing for that bit of familiarity. He thought briefly that if he could remember with any confidence what the refresher at home had looked like, that things would look like that too.

He felt impossibly young, though he knew he was himself.

“What are you doing right now?”

The other Hux smiled wryly, “You know I can’t tell you that. Not exactly.”

“Yes, I know.” He put his arm down on the edge of the tub, drumming his fingers against the shiny surface. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Always trying to spoil the game.”

The other Hux’s arm came down to rest beside his, clasping his elbow. The double leaned forward and traced a path through the freckles on his own forearm to theirs. The smile on the face that wasn’t his cycled through softness and wickedness before it disappeared.

Hux woke with a groan. He could hear his datapad chirping in the next room, the day’s duties already piling up before his shift had a chance to begin. He unfolded himself, rolling his stiff neck and stretching his arms as he climbed out of the tub. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep there, but what was done was done. And it certainly wasn’t the worst spot he’d ever slept in.

He picked up the bottle of brandy and his teacup-cum-ashtray from the floor, tossing the empty cigarette packet into the bin as he passed.

The datapad and its messages could wait until he was properly awake and dressed. He silenced the alert and went about preparing for the day. It was while he had his toothbrush clenched between his teeth and a piping hot ration packet half out of the nanowave in the little kitchen-area off his suite that the chirping standard message alert changed to the screech of an urgent alarm.

Hux rolled his eyes, really he should have expected things to get worse. He chucked the ration packet onto his desk and smacked at the datapad, “What is it?” Teeth gritted around his toothbrush, he sounded far more menacing than he’d intended. “Has the recycler gone out completely this time?” He glanced toward the emergency case and the mask and air tank on the shelf inside.

The ever-present Lieutenant Mitaka’s voice rang out from the speaker on the datapad, “No, sir, not at all. The engineers finished repairing it an hour ago.”

“Then what is the problem?” Hux stretched his arm and held the datapad outside the refresher door while he rinsed his mouth out.

“We appear to be under attack.”

“By whom?”

“Resistance.”

“This far out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The shields are holding?”

“At the moment, yes.”

“Fire against them, then. I will be on the bridge shortly.”

Hux yanked on his jacket and belt, leaving the greatcoat on its form near the door in favor of speed. His nanowaved breakfast would have to wait. As he walked swiftly from his quarters to the stairs, propelling himself upward faster than the lift would have gotten him, he decided that if they picked off the Resistance attackers before the hour was out, he’d indulge in a cup of coffeine. If they did it without damage to the _Finalizer’s_ shields, maybe took a prisoner or two for intelligence—because this particular flightpath had been off-plan and therefore should _not_ have been anticipated unless their communications were compromised—he might even add a splash of Traladon milk to it.

“Status.”

To Mitaka’s credit, he didn’t flinch when Hux came up behind him unannounced; nor did he make any indication that he noticed the way Hux was raking his fingers through his hair. The lieutenant relayed all the relevant information, indicating figures on the radar display in front of him, the Resistance crafts looking like gnats buzzing around a great beast on the holoscreen.

“Shall we send pilots out, sir?”

Hux squinted out the viewport in displeasure, an enemy craft coming very close before being taken apart by a shot from the blaster turret.

“No.” Hux moved closer to the viewport, scanning the debris from the destroyed craft. “There.” He pointed through the transparisteel at a curious-looking remnant of the craft. “The pilot, they ejected.”

“Capture them? Or fire?”

“Capture, if possible.” Hux stepped back, looking over the radar once more, just a few stragglers left to be taken care of. “I trust you have this well in hand now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, alert me when the prisoner is secured.”

Hux tried not to be annoyed as he made his way back to his quarters. The attack hadn’t been much at all, though he supposed that caution was warranted when something so unexpected and utterly brazen happened.

They’d received no intelligence that the Resistance had made its way to this system with any kind of strength. The possibility that they were courting the Naboo for their plasma the same way Hux planned to was certainly a reasonable one. It wasn’t a stretch that they’d offer the system some kind of protection in exchange to sweeten the deal. If he remembered his history lessons correctly, the Naboo didn’t have much by way of an army.

Hux ate his now cold breakfast standing over his desk, scrolling quickly through his messages and ignoring most of them. He sat down and yanked off his boots, cringing at the feeling of his naked feet sliding through them, before putting socks on and replacing them. He combed his hair down quickly, yanking the teeth though yesterday’s pomade to get it into some semblance of order—he’d have to keep his cap on, at this point there was no time to shower. He was simply glad that the bridge had been running only on essential staff, the overnight shift technically not yet over.

The datapad chirped, a message popping up on the screen that the ejected pilot had been secured and was being held in an interrogation room.

Hux took his time making his way down to the detention block. There was no reason to rush, his guest wasn’t going anywhere. He nodded in acknowledgement when crew stepped out of his path in deference and let his mind wander.

_Interesting weather on the edge of the rim._

It was code, of course, referring to a task that the sender of the message had been assigned and had evidently been successful at.

“Interesting weather” referred to mission objective: a traitor within the Order—some spy or informer had been discovered. The rest of the statement was mostly meaningless without more context. It was purposefully ambiguous, meant to feed him the more vital information and deliver the implication that Hux should be on guard. The ambiguity of the message also lent a layer of security, made the sender more difficult to track.

_Don’t drink the water._

The fact the traitor had warranted this _particular_ attention meant that it was someone who held rank—though whether it was political or military was unclear. They’d been poisoned quietly rather than anything dramatic or public, some kind of plausible deniability had been established. Even if the body was examined thoroughly, it wasn’t likely that the synox would be detected. The target probably never knew they were ingesting it.

_Have a cig and a sit. Joyous breath._

That part was personal. He was being told to take a moment to relax, unwind, reminded that he was man rather than machine. _Joyous breath_ wrenched him back in time until he was seventeen and on the cusp of his journey through the Order’s ranks. He shook his head as if physically clearing it. Now wasn’t the time for personal distractions.

_D._

It had been a very long while since he’d last received correspondence from them. It almost felt like having them close-by once again. Hux drew strength from it and set his jaw as he stepped into the small chamber beside the interrogation room, watching the prisoner through the one-way viewport for a moment. If there was an informant that had tipped them off, perhaps they’d already been taken care of by _D_ and their poison.

“General.”

Hux fought to keep himself from visibly cringing.

Curse Ren and his silent feet.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was a prisoner from the Resistance. I was curious.” Kylo Ren shifted beside Hux, crossing his arms and tilting his head just slightly to the side in a show of the curiosity he claimed. The low light of the observation room they were standing in reflected off of the high-polished surfaces of Ren’s helmet made him look like the stuff of nightmares—the monster that lived in the closet or under the bed. It was more eerie than frightening. “I could ask the same of you. You’ve plenty of subordinates who could handle an interrogation.” Hux narrowed his eyes and watched the prisoner test the strength of his bonds. His head throbbed for a moment. “You want information. Specifics. I can get that for you quite easily.”

“And what if I don’t want it _quite easily_ , Ren?” He reordered his thoughts, determined to keep Ren out of them.

“Why waste your time? Surely you have duties to attend to more befitting your rank.” Hux could hear the sneer in his voice, Ren’s contempt for the chain of command abundantly clear. “The commanders of the other crafts I’ve served on wouldn’t deign to get their hands dirty.”

Hux let himself smile. If there was one thing that he was truly proud of in relation to having achieved his rank, it was that he’d earned it. Partially so, by doing just that. “Ren, do you think that I became General by _not_ getting my hands dirty?”

Hux patted the pocket on the inside of his greatcoat, reassured that he had his cigarette case in the event that the interrogation became lengthy.

“You’re welcome to observe.”

Hux thumbed the keypad to admit himself to the interrogation room, shooting a warning look over his shoulder and willing Ren to stay put. The general was skeptical of the depth of the power that Ren claimed to possess—that Snoke insisted that he and the others harnessed in order to make the galaxy around them bend to their will—but he had seen them in action. He’d witnessed interrogations and torture that never required lifting a finger. He’d seen them train against each other, against Troopers, droids, and nothing at all.

He understood their value even if Kylo Ren managed to be singularly obstinate and irritating.

None of that negated his desire to _do his job_. That didn’t strictly mean conducting an interrogation, but—

Why had he worked so hard to simply sit back and let someone else take care of things by staring very hard at a prisoner until they babbled?

The prisoner laughed, shrill and unhinged, as Hux walked into the room. “I know who you are.” His accent was standard, nothing telling of a home planet that might be used to advantage.

“Do you?”

“You’re that general.” He strained, yanking against the restraints around his arms and legs.

“That general.”

“Th’one that’s gonna…” He was breathing hard, his pulse fluttering visibly in the veins of his neck and forehead. “Gonna blow up the galaxy.”

“Is that what I’m going to do?”

“Not if we have any say in it.”

“Who is we?”

“The Resistance! General Organa! The New Republic!”

Hux allowed himself just a hint of a smile. He pushed the tall stool against the wall closer to the prisoner with the toe of a boot and perched himself on the edge.

“Considering that you won’t live to see whether or not _that general_ succeeds, we could make this very easy. Your last hours would be quite a bit less unpleasant.”

The prisoner laughed, “Oh yeah?”

“Indeed. Why are you in the Naboo system?”

“Kriffing hell—why do you _think_ we’re in the Naboo system? Why does anyone give a damn about Naboo?”

“Plasma.” The prisoner nodded. “See, that was easy.”

“It’s not like I just gave up some vital secret, buddy.”

Hux’s lip curled involuntarily. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and retrieved his cigarette case. He very purposefully selected a cigarette and placed it between his lips, stowed the case, and struck a sparkstick. He inhaled deeply, watching the prisoner, noting his persistence. He continued to squirm in the face of complete futility.

“No, you haven’t. But you will.” Hux exhaled, the smoke swirling around the prisoner’s face and making him gag.

Hours passed and Hux’s agitation grew. He sat on his stool, dragging slowly on his third cigarette and watching the sweat cool on the unconscious man’s face and neck. He perked up at the sound of the intercom coming on and turned toward the one-way viewport.

“Sir?” He recognized the voice of the woman who oversaw operations in the detention block. “Would you like the incinerator primed?”

Hux regarded the prisoner for a moment, “No. We’ll put him out the airlock.” The body would be a warning to any other Resistance pilot who navigated through the system.

And even if all technical reports indicated that the air recycler had been repaired and the toxic atmosphere cleared, there was certainly no reason to go starting fires unnecessarily until a secondary systems check had been adequately performed.

Hux tamped out the end of his cigarette on the leg of his stool and stowed the half-smoked thing back in his case. He moved in close to the prisoner, sharing intimate distance and cupping his hand for a moment before squeezing the mangled fingers there vindictively to wake him.

“I’m just a pilot-I dunno _shit_ , General Ginger.” He had waited for Hux to move just a hair closer before rearing his head back and spitting soundly in his face.

Hux had broken the first of the prisoner’s fingers fairly easily. He’d blanched and shrieked when his thumb popped out of place.

“You shouldn’t pant like that. You’ll only make yourself sick.”

The prisoner gritted his teeth and glared at Hux. “Keep it up. I wouldn’t tell you a damn thing even if I could.” Hux gripped his index finger and applied pressure—he _had_ essentially asked for it and Hux was feeling generous.

The prisoner had eventually passed out somewhere around the second thumb. For all of his protestation, and while not exactly _intelligence_ , he had given up some useful information.

There was another squadron of Resistance pilots stationed closer to Naboo-proper, ready to fire on the _Finalizer_ when it came in range. They hadn’t been anticipating a full-fledged _Resurgent_ -class otherwise they might have sent in additional support.

The Resistance was indeed vying for Naboo’s plasma. They were planning on setting up some kind of economic accords. The implication that the system would no longer be putting up any front of neutrality with regards to combat was heavy if the deal was accepted.

The Resistance was relying equally as heavily on General Organa’s legacy. “She’s kriffing royalty. Not just Alderaan—she’s an Amidala by birth.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the Skywalker story, thank you. The Naboo _elect_ their monarch. Her legacy means nothing.”

“She’s helped them out before. They’re not averse to taking her help again—or letting her get what she wants. Not if it keeps them out of this war directly.”

“Who issued your orders?”

“Organa—who else?”

“And how did Organa know we would be here?”

“I’m just a _pilot_. They don’t tell me things like that.”

“Liar.” Another finger had snapped easily, breaking at the inter-phalangeal rather than dislocating at the knuckle. The prisoner screamed. “How did she know?” Hux rolled his eyes, growing tired of the whole thing.

The prisoner’s eyes fluttered and Hux squeezed his mangled fingers again. The man lurched awake, breaking out in a renewed sweat and shrieking soundlessly.

Hux smiled, “There you are. Let’s try this again. Where did Organa’s information come from?”

The prisoner sobbed that he didn’t know and his eyes rolled wildly around the room, getting reacquainted with his surroundings. “I’m just…I’m just a pilot. I don’t _know. I dunno. I’d-no!”_

Hux tensed, perturbed not by the prisoner’s blubbering but by the itch at the back of his head—deeper than skin. He had the distinct feeling of being not watched, as he knew Ren was doing from behind the viewport, but of being _observed._

“General.” Hux couldn’t hide his displeasure at the sound of Ren’s modulated voice coming through the intercom. Rather than allow the prisoner to hear anything Ren had to say, regardless of his fate, Hux returned to the observation room.

“What?”

“You’re distracted.”

“Yes, by you.”

Ren shook his head, “No, a message you received. It’s troubling you.”

“Stay out of my head.” Hux very carefully imagined a box with a lock that only he could open, surrounding his thoughts with it. Ren huffed, sounding annoyed.

“Who is _D_?”

“None of your business.”

“They’re…important. To you, at least.”

“Does any of this have to do with my interrogation?”

“He doesn’t know. He’s not lying.”

“Do you think I haven’t guessed that?”

“You continued your… questioning.”

“Yes, I did. And look at all of the other things he told me while he was trying to please me. Are we finished?” Before Ren had a chance to respond, Hux went back through the door once more. The prisoner was still sobbing, though much more quietly, sagging against his bonds rather than straining. He worse a resigned look on his flushed face. Hux hooked a gloved finger under his chin, pushing his face up almost gently. Hux leaned in close, confident that Ren was still watching, “You’re really just a pilot, aren’t you? You know nothing of value.”

The man choked out a sob. “I’m just a pilot,” he whispered. Hux’s fingers crept around his throat. “I’m just a pilot.” He had the decency not to struggle.

Hux glanced over his shoulder at the viewport and tipped his chin upward, his mouth set into a satisfied sneer.

***

Kylo searched the prisoner’s mind, rooting around for information before it was too clouded with panic and pain.

His name was Jax Pavan—laughably common—he was a pilot with the Resistance, just as he said, and nothing more. The only vaguely special thing about him seemed to be that his squadron often received orders directly from General Organa.

Jax gasped and jerked his head back as Kylo dug deeper. He sensed something, felt it. Likely was used to guarding his thoughts, often in contact with someone at least very minimally Force-sensitive, even if neither of them realized it.

He realized quickly that Jax would have nothing more to offer. There were some things about why the Resistance was in the Naboo system, but nothing that they could not have gained without him.

Kylo turned his attention to Hux.

He was tense, agitated. Much more than seemed reasonable after a failed attack. Something more was wrong.

Jax lost consciousness and Hux stood for a moment, studying him, considering how to proceed before settling back on the stool he’d moved over at the start of it all. He lit a fresh cigarette and stretched his legs, pointing his toes as sharply as his boots would allow before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling.

 _Pathetic._ Hux’s thoughts projected as if he were speaking aloud, completely unguarded and gaining clarity in his disgust. _Clones would have withstood worse._

As Jax lingered beyond Hux’s reach, and his mind very much blank to Kylo, the general let his own wander. He was preoccupied, it seemed, with several things at once.

_An informer._

_Informer._

_Who._

_Who._

_Who._

_Where_ are _you, D?_

_Kriffing hell I—_

_Have a cig and a sit._

_A cig and a sit._

_Sit._

_Sit._

_FOCUS._

_The edge of the rim._

_Which rim?_

_WHO._

_Synox and cigarettes. Ha._

_Synox. Quiet. Quiet. Neat._

_Too neat._

_Too clean._

_Learned from being messy._

_Learned—_

Kylo nearly physically recoiled with the strength that Hux’s disjointed thoughts hit him—like an overcharged speeder through a windstorm.

He saw Hux in a sea of identically dressed people—cadets—First Order—Academy.

Hux clenched his jaw and his fists as he listened to someone standing before the audience of students. Someone explaining away and accident, someone breaking under pressure.

Hux glanced to his right and looked at himself with a split lip and a purpled jaw and a ram-rod straight back. He closed his eyes and remembered blood—smeared on the wall beside a window—the tinkling and crunch of shattered glass—scuffmarks on the floor and the wall from a pair of struggling boots.

The others glanced about nervously, trying to keep their attention on the person addressing them but pulled toward Hux and the vision of himself as if they understood there was something more to the story than what they were being offered.

_Joyous breath! Joyous. Nothing kriffing joyous about it._

Hux was on his own, in a room—a bedroom—a dormitory—two beds, two desks, a narrow strip of carpet between. He huffed and threw something toward one of the beds. It hit the wall with a clatter.

_You should be glad._

_Spoiled it!_

_Joyous breath!_

Hux’s thoughts snapped into sharp focus when a voice filtered over the intercom, likely the warden. His mind turned back to the task at hand. _Toxic atmosphere—combustible._ He instructed whomever was speaking to simply pitch Jax out of the airlock. He thought of the lifeless body floating and freezing in the blackness of space and the outrage of the Resistance that would follow.

_So much for ejecting. What did you think that would get you?_

_My starship for some synox…_

“Where did Organa’s information come from?”

_Informer._

_Where are you D?_

_Who? Who was it?_

Hux tensed. Did he feel something? Sense it like Jax had? Something scratching at the back of his head? 

Kylo drew away, tucking himself into the quiet and safety of his own mind and decided at once that he needed to put an end to the display in the interrogation room. It was pointless. A waste of valuable hours that could have been spent launching their own attack.

Hux killed Jax cleanly, efficiently.

Intimately.

It wasn’t the first time Kylo had observed Hux at work, wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed him take a life; but something about this was unnerving, the general’s usual laser-focus and organization in complete internal upheaval.

Kylo shivered, standing in the observation for a long moment after Hux was gone.

He thought of himself, his face painted garishly and his body overworked and pained as he fought. He thought of fingermarks in the makeup and tightness in his throat.

Kylo jabbed at the release clip on the side of his mask, wrenching it off and gasping for breath as he stared into Jax Pavan's lifeless eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, more of the mysterious new character. Who are they? Do you know? Do I know? Does Kylo? Are they a figment of Hux's imagination?  
> Will the Naboo bend to Hux's will?  
> Is there really a mole in the Order?  
> When will I finally deliver on the tags?  
> 


End file.
